I watched the hand curl around the door, the long fingernails digging into the wood. In the shadowy moonlight, I could see the knuckles turning white. The door creaked. It was standing half ajar, but I was sitting in the dark, hidden away from the outside. All I could see was the door. The door and the hand curled around it. And of course the shadow. It was so huge, it almost occupied the entire doorframe, the hulky shape blocking out the moon.
I shivered. I didn’t know what to do. My teeth were clamped together so hard, my jaw hurt, but I knew they would chatter as soon as I opened my mouth. It was so cold here. The floor was so cold, hard and wet. The hand moved a fragment of an inch, barely noticeable, but I was so fixated on it, I noticed it. The door creaked once more, now slowly opening wider. I wanted to scoot further into the corner I was in, but there was nowhere to go.
That was when the screaming started. Thousands of voices around me, begging for forgiveness.
FFfAW, Week of September 5, 2017
Photo prompt provided by artycaptures.wordpress.com
He took one step at a time. Carefully placing one foot above the other, he hoisted himself up the steps. They were uneven and covered in grass, but he did not seem to notice. His thoughts were elsewhere; the steps a lifetime away.
He kept seeing the shocked face, inches from his. First the happiness, then the shock, then the twisted expression of hatred and pain. He hadn’t wanted to end it this way. He had wanted to take her with him. Lock her up and keep her close. But the order to remove her had come and he had to obey.
Without realising, he had reached the top of the steps. He stopped walking and shook his head, trying to remove the veil of images that covered his view.
He looked down at the village and took a deep breath. He would start his new life here, he thought. They would never find him.
He started down the steps when all of a sudden, he was wrenched backward and thrown to the ground.
The man above him sneered at him, his gun inches from his face. He felt a sense of déjà vu, then the fatal gunshot sounded.
FFfAW, Week of July 18, 2017
Photo prompt provided by J.S. Brand
He stared at the photograph. The colours were already starting to fade and the corners had been folded by accident when it had slipped behind the desk.
He remembered the spot exactly. It had been his favourite place as a child. Sitting on the rocks, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves of the trees and the water flowing somewhere in the distance down the slope. It had been a tranquil place, where he had always been at peace.
After a while he had stopped going to the place. He had started socializing more, had a girlfriend. He had almost forgotten all about the place, until their one-year anniversary as a couple.
She wanted to go somewhere romantic, so in the spur of the moment, he had packed a picnic basket and taken her to his special place.
Looking back, he couldn’t quite piece together what had happened. It had all been wrong.
Trying to reconnect his new self with his past had ended in a disaster. Somehow, in a rage of sudden aggression, he channelled his anger towards her. Then she stumbled backwards.
As though in slow motion, he could still see her tumble backwards over the stones, hitting her head hard and her body bouncing down the slope of the hill until it came to a rest.
Snapping out of his dream, he ripped the photograph into tiny pieces. He couldn’t let the memories rip apart his carefully constructed perfect life.
FFfAW, Week of June 6, 2017
Photo prompt provided by Pamela S. Canepa
Carefully, she peaked over the edge of the leaves. The rusty red of the car seemed to shimmer as the sunlight reflected off of it.
She smiled to herself, her eyes slowly scanning her surroundings. This was the place. She remembered it so well.
Deciding that there was no one to hide from, she pushed herself through the leaves towards the car.
Taking in the missing windows from the car, she thought back to when she had first found this place. It hadn’t been that long ago. At least, it felt like it had been only yesterday.
Bending through the window frame, she reached out her hand and stroked the cold hard skin of her mother, taking in the wound in the chest that had gotten bigger since she last saw it.
Her smile froze on her face when she heard a twig snap behind her. Her hand slowly reaching towards the gun in her pocket, her mind spiralled in a million different directions.
“Police,” a cold voice said from behind her. She whirled around, but before she could align the gun, she heard a different shot, then fell down on her knees, her gun dropping uselessly to the floor.
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, Week of March 14, 2017
Photo prompt provided by Tom Livingston with the blog The ForesterArtist